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God Toilet
The Author of this Story is Phylodox (credited as being 'of SomethingAwful'.) This is the fortieth CreepyPasta that was narrated by DaveTheUseless. It's time to tell the story of the God Toilet!!! That's what we call one of the washroom stalls in the building where I work. It's in one of the men's rooms in an out-of-the-way corner of the building that people don't tend to frequent. I like to go there, even though it's quite a trek across the building, because I'm the shy type when it comes to bathroom duties. That, and it gives me an excuse to get away from my desk for a bit. Well, I used to like to go there. Well, the God Toilet stall itself has been out of order for as long as I can remember. The reason it's called the God Toilet is because, for some odd reason, that bathroom stall has a spot-light set into the ceiling directly above it. No other bathroom stall in the building is set up like that. With the stall door closed, the light from the spot-light comes streaming through the cracks and under the door as though God himself were taking a dookie-break there. Hence the name. So I'm working away one morning when I get that familiar urge. I get up and begin my daily trek across the building. I get to the God Toilet washroom, go into the stall, and start doin' my thing (number one, if anyone cares. I can't imagine anyone will, but it's the details that make the story, right?) I'm only there for a few moments when I hear something. I think nothing of it, as strange noises are a common occurrence in the God Toilet bathroom. I always wrote them off as voices being carried through the ventilation system. This time, however, the noises are quite clearly coming from the stall next to me. The God Toilet. I freak out. Not because I think there are ghosts or anything, but just because I really do have a bit of a shy bladder, and the thought of someone unexpectedly sharing the room with me kind of interfered with my pee-mojo. I do my best to continue, but Mr. Bladder won't have it. In the awkward silence that followed, I could almost make out words in the odd whispering from the stall next to me. Despite myself, I lean a little closer to the stall wall, feeling like a complete weirdo for listening to someone whispering to themselves on the toilet, but intrigued. There's heavy breathing and what sounds like...sobbing? I suppress a giggle, imagining someone so thoroughly constipated that they had broken down in tears. Leaning a bit closer, I can almost make out some words in the stream of whispered gibberish. One of those words was "God". Another was "help". My amusement was definitely short-lived. I was just able to make out a whole sentence, "Oh, God, please help me," when something hit the stall wall. Hard. Hard enough to make the wall bow out towards me briefly, rattling in its frame. The whispering was still going on, but now, beneath it, I could hear grunting. Low, animalistic grunting that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. I had definitely had enough. I zipped up and, in looking down to do so, I happened to glance beneath the stall wall. On the little sliver of God Toilet floor that I could see what a drop of what could only be blood. I got the hell out of that stall and, in a moment of supreme stupidity, decided to wash my hands as quickly as I could. What can I say? My mother taught me well. I splash my hands under the water, the grunting behind me getting louder by the moment. In the mirror, I can see the God Toilet stall behind me, the light streaming through the cracks, no longer amusing but ominous. I go to leave and, in heading for the door, I see something in the mirror that will haunt me to this day. Under the stall door, inside the God Toilet, I could see a pair of feet. These weren't the standard loafered, pants-around-ankles feet you see under a stall door, though. They were quite bare, the toenails long and ragged, the flesh pale and grey. They were dead feet, and they were moving towards the stall door, shuffling with agonizing slowness. As I wrenched open the bathroom door, the last thing I heard was the latch on the God Toilet stall rattling. Sweating profusely, I walked as fast as I could back to my desk and sat there, shivering and weak, pretending to work. Needless to say, I haven't been back to the God Toilet bathroom. My bladder isn't feeling so shy, anymore. Category:CreepyPasta Article